


The Family Life of An Ordinary Associate Dean

by ljs



Category: Indiana Jones (1981 1984 1989 2008)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-18
Updated: 2010-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:41:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ljs/pseuds/ljs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set a few months after <em>Kingdom of the Crystal Skull</em>... just a snapshot of the family life of an ordinary associate dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Family Life of An Ordinary Associate Dean

Indy squints at the student paper with one eye, hoping to make it better, but no. The kid hasn't even _touched_ Michaelson.

 **F** , he scrawls in big, bold strokes on top of the paper, and then sends it to its grave with all the others. Last one.

Which means that the next job in his fun-filled day is... “Faculty meeting. Why couldn't it have been snakes,” he mutters. He hates faculty meetings, but he can't skip them any more. Now he has to run them.

He'd rather face another snake – or revenant Nazis. Yeah, zombie Nazis would be good.

Especially since Marion had laughed her ass off when he suggested to her that he could keep better order in the damn meetings with his whip, and then she'd hidden it where he couldn't find it, just because he'd said that idiot Baker in Zoology needed a lash or two to shut him up on the subject of College Morals.

“Jones,” she'd said, “you were the one who agreed to be Associate Dean, even though it's a clear sign of senility or dementia or something. So act like a goddamn Dean.”

Still irritates him to remember it, and she's not here to argue with. Anyway--

“I'm an archeologist. I'm a _great_ archeologist,” he says to the empty room. “And I bet I can find the whip before she gets back.”

The slam of the front door makes him jump – just a little. “Um, Marion?”

“Hey, Dad.” Junior waltzes in with a smile and his battered suitcase. “Talking to yourself?”

“Hey, son. Why aren't you in school?” Indy shoots back. Then he walks over and rubs his son's shoulder. Mutt's a good kid, really. Although -- “Seriously, why _aren't_ you in school?”

“Spring break, okay. We're a week ahead of Marshall.” With a roll of the eyes – cocky little shit – Mutt saunters off to the kitchen. “What have you guys got to eat?”

“I don't know if your mother was prepared for your plague-of-locust descent on our kitchen. Better just look for yourself.”

“Never change, Dad,” drifts back from the next room. Yeah, that's the opening of the refrigerator door, he can hear the hum.

Another slam of the front door, and a bellowed, “ _Jones_!”

Oh, damn it. He hadn't gotten around to telling her about... the thing. He puts on his biggest, most charming smile, turns to her with all the love in his heart, and blocks her punch. “Hello, dear. Bad day at the gym?”

“Jones, I'm going to kill you,” she grits out.

It's been a difficult adjustment for her, he knows. Marion Ravenwood Williams Jones is not cut out to be a housewife, much less a faculty wife. He's managed to get her an adjunct position, teaching a class a semester on India, Tibet, and Nepal, and she's using her fencing expertise – she'd been an instructor in England, even sent her best female student to the Olympics – as the coach of the Marshall fencing club, but there are still campus expectations, and -- “I'm sorry,” he says earnestly. “I tried to stop it.”

“A faculty wives' tea? I'm supposed to give a _faculty wives' tea_? With pearls, and finger sandwiches, and... _tea?_ ”

She's still so beautiful when she's mad as hell. He carefully takes her in his arms, caresses her back, and says, “Well, honey, we all have things we don't want to do. I have to go to faculty meetings. And without my whip or pistol.”

“Damn it, Indy!” She shoves at him hard, but that's not enough to break his hold. She's never getting away from him again.

“I'm really sorry,” he says again, and brings her close enough for a kiss. She's not particularly willing to come, but once she's there, she's _there._ She opens her mouth for him, presses in with tongue and breasts and arms, and he forgets all the lost years and the anger. “Marion,” he says deep in his throat, and kisses her again--

“You lovebirds forget I was here?” Junior says.

“Mutt, baby!” she says, pulling away. “When did you get home?”

Indy has to let her go. Sacred duty of motherhood, or something – she explained it very carefully during their first conversation about why the _hell_ she hadn't told him about Mutt's existence before now. Mutt comes first.

She's a great mother, he thinks, as she swoops down on their son with hugs and smiles. She's brought him a great kid, and she's brought him herself, and... and he's brought her to Marshall and made her give faculty wives' teas. If only she didn't hit quite so hard, he'd let her punch him at least once for that.

The phone rings, and with a muttered “I'll get it,” he picks it up. “Jones residence.”

“Indy!” Ox says cheerfully on the other end. He's completely recovered from the mystical madness, and off in Arizona on a dig. “Didn't you get my cable?”

“No. What's up?”

“You know I've been digging here at a newly discovered pueblo – not even the locals knew about it – and, well, we've found the strangest Anasazi artifact....”

Indy can feel when something big's coming. “How strange?”

“ _Very_ strange,” Ox says. “Mystical powers, suspicious deaths... Right up your street.”

Indy looks at his family – his Marion, sharp and bright-eyed; his kid, smart and dependable even though he has stupid hair. Well, his grading's done, it _is_ almost spring break, and maybe it's time for another adventure.

“Arizona, huh?” he says, smiling at his loved ones' immediate interest. “Well, like I always say -- See America first, and take your family.”


End file.
